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There was little in the way of sound in the forest on a late autumn morning, at least before the sun came up. The woods were so still, in fact, that the quiet hiss of the propane lantern sounded positively loud. The white light that it cast seemed a little eerie and out of place so far from civilization, splaying the long shadows of the ponderosa pine in every direction away from the campground, contrasting with the first hints of a dark indigo glow that was just beginning to caress the eastern horizon.

It was cold, too, the kind of cold that had a way of sneaking through jackets and clothing, the kind that seemed to bite deep to the bone. Normally Andy wouldn't be bothered so much by the cold, but as he watched the little clouds of steam billowing in front of his face, catching the glow of the lantern that hung from a nearby tree, he shivered. He tugged the thick plaid coat closer around his shoulders, sealing off the neck to keep his body head from escaping so much, and breathed out a quiet curse as he fumbled with the pack of matches in his hands, his fingers beginning to ache from the cold.

Finally one of the matches roared to life, flaring brightly in front of him. He quickly reached to turn the knob on the propane camp stove, greeted by the soft hiss of gas escaping into the air. The flame caught quickly, spreading in a light blue ring that crowned the stove. The match was flicked till it went out in a puff of smoke, tossed to the side into a pile of fallen pine needles. The man didn't even stop to think if the smouldering match might catch the needles on fire, as he was too busy jamming the thick mittens back on his bare hands. Fortunately, no fire would break out this morning.

Mittens firmly in place, Andy reached over and dropped a kettle of water on the stove. With a grunt, he shoved the large, five gallon water can deeper into the bed of his truck, beneath the camper shell and large piles of blankets. With any luck, it would be a little better insulated and hopefully wouldn't freeze solid too quickly, but since he was using the tailgate of his pickup as a makeshift camp table, he was probably letting too much of the cold air in.

A stirring near his tire caused him to look down. Betty, his old hound dog, had lifted her head and was peering out into the distant darkness of the woods. "What is it, old girl?"

Moments after the question was asked, he could hear a faint rumbling approaching around a corner, and then the flicker of headlights through the trees. The man's eyes narrowed as he reached forward and slid a rifle that had been sitting in the open, in the bed of his truck, beneath the blankets along with the water, hiding it out of the sight. "Might be the law," he said with a low, irritated mumble. "Just keep it cool, Betty."

Sure enough, a dull tan SUV, doors emblazoned with the game and fish department's logo, came around the corner and to a halt, just outside of his campground. At the very least, the driver had the good manners to park so that the headlights were not shining straight into the camp. Betty stirred a little more as the door swung open and the driver hopped out, the dog breathing out a little whine. "Easy, girl."

He recognized the man as he approached. Emelio Vasquez, a game warden who happened to live in the same small town not too far away. The much younger man, wearing a heavy leather overcoat and a wide-brimmed hat, had a flashlight in one hand and a pleasant, but businesslike, smile on his face. "Well, hello there, Mister Andy. Didn't expect to see you out here this morning," the young man called out as he approached.

"Warden." Andy shifted uncomfortably against the side of his truck as the young man neared, folding his arms in front of him and twisting his face into a dour grimace. "Likewise."

The young man seemed undeterred by the less than friendly greeting, stopping just a few feet from the tailgate. His dark eyes scanned the area, his flashlight pointing in various locations. "Hope you're keeping warm, it's supposed to be a cold one today," he said, again wearing that perfunctory smile. "Mind if I take a look at your tag and license?"

Andy snorted, a puff of white steam issuing from the yellowing moustache beneath his nostrils. "Who said anything about hunting?"

"Oh, you're not hunting?" The warden tipped his hat a little back as he stood up straight again, meeting the man's gaze with a hint of doubt. "Just out camping?"

"Ain't nothing wrong with that," he replied, again with a little snort. "I'm allowed to come camping anytime I like. Public land."

Emelio nodded, but still looked dubious. A gloved hand creaked over his flashlight as he briefly pointed it into the back of the truck, taking a peek beneath the shell. "Of course you are. But it's damned cold out here for camping, and you know as well as I that it's the middle of the rut. You sure you aren't hunting?"

Andy seemed to bristle a little at that, unfolding his arms and refolding them again, sitting up more straight. "I done told you I wasn't. What's with the third degree?"

"We've been having some problems with poachers, Andy."

"Poachers?" His face screwed up in a frown again as he chewed on the word. "I dunno nothing about no poachers."

The young warden shrugged, pointing his flashlight back at the ground. "Some hunters in the area have been reporting a rash of decapitated bucks in the area. Looks like someone's been taking the heads for trophies but leaving the rest of the deer behind to spoil. There's been quite a few of them latley, too."

"Isn't that something."

Dark eyes quinted back in Andy's direction as the warden considered him. "I don't wanna cause no trouble for you, Andy, I really don't. So it's important that you let me know, if you've seen nor heard anything out of the ordinary, anything unusual. Man like you gets around ..."

Andy chewed on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. "Like I said, I don't know nothing about no poachers. Only got here just this morning."

The kettle of water on the stove began to make fitful little whistling sounds as it began to boil, and both men's attention turned to it briefly. The warden's flashlight again went up, illuminating the column of steam, looking like a miniature geyeser. "Well, I don't imagine you'd mind me having a look in the back of your truck, then."

"Pardon?" Andy's eyes took on an incredulous look, and just at that moment a plantive whine sounded up from below.

Distracted, the warden's flashlight pointed downward again, illuminating the old hound dog curled up on a pile of pine needles near the rear wheel of the truck. "Dog looks a little uncomfortable," he said, peering down at her. "Probably a little cold, don't you think?"

The older man's voice was gruff and combative. "She probably don't appreciate a flashlight in her face, is what."

The warden lifted his light again and shined it right into Andy's face, as if to make a point, before clicking it off. "You might want to make sure she stays warm, too."

"She's fine," Andy replied, leaning over to turn off the stove as the kettle began whistling more loudly, his eyes straying and catching sight of the horizon. Deep purples and crimsons had begun to show in irregular patches through the trees. Dawn was coming on.

Emelio took another brief look around the camp, then straightened himself up a bit. "I'd best be off for now, a lot more forest to look after," he said, turning toward his vehicle and pausing as he was halfway there. "You be sure to let us know if you notice anything funny, Andy."

"Of course," he called out over the soft buzzing sound the warden's vehicle made when the door was ajar. The man tilted his wide-brimmed hat as he hopped inside, shutting the door. The engine roared to life and the vehicle took off down the road. Andy spit in its direction. "Good for nothing law."

Betty seemed to whine in response. The chill in the air seemed to have deepend in the moments before dawn, and Andy shivered, turning his attention back to the kettle. A cup of hot coffee would be just the thing, he thought to himself.

Though the sun had yet to climb over the horizon, it had long turned light enough to see without a flaslight. Andy had bundled up against the deepening cold, a thick, camoflauged jacket having been added over his plaid coat. A dingy wool cap with long flaps that hung over his ears protected them from the chill, and heavy mittens still covered his fingers. The two cups of coffee still felt warm in his stomach, even though it'd been a good half hour since he'd abandoned the camp.

During the rut, the bucks got stupid, and the hunting was good. Other times of year he might take more precautions to be less seen and heard, wait up in a blind perhaps, but not now. His excursions in late November were almost always the same : less than an hour after wandering out of camp, he'd stumble upon some poor buck, crazed with the scent of does on the air and not thinking of survival. The smaller, younger ones he'd ignore, but the rest would feel the hot lead of his rifle. He almost always felled a creature when he aimed at it.

Even his process had been prefected nearly to a science. A long, sharpened knife would cut the hide clean open, severing the veins and arteries to bleed out as much of the animal as he could. He carried a hacksaw to make quick work of bones and sinew. Usually he had his trophy within five minutes of pulling the trigger on his rifle, and he'd be on his way back to his cabin to store it away for later mounting, all finished long before lunchtime.

Crazed as they were, he still could not go bumbling through the woods carelessly. Andy was experienced at making his way through the tangled underbrush without making hardly a sound, and this morning was no differnet. Even the soft pad-padding of Betty's paws on the soft pine needles made more sounds than his boots. The creeping made his legs ache a little, but he'd be done soon. He was approaching a meadow he knew well, and his instincts told him that he'd have to go no further to find what he was looking for.

Even he didn't expect to be as lucky as he was.

No sooner than he got to the edge of the meadow did his eyes bulge out, practically in disbelief. An entire herd of does was busily grazing on the tender grass, and standing guard over them was their buck. What made Andy's eyes bulge out was the size of the male, or more to the point, his rack. He could feel himself salivating at the mere thought of those antlers, mounted in his living room, lording over the rest of his collection. Even at this distance he could tell that it dwarfed anything he had personally taken, and probably would be a serious competitor in terms of state records. It was the sort of sight that most hunters only dreamed about.

Quietly he dropped to one knee, unbuttoning part of his mittens to explose his fingers, unstrapping his rifle from his back. He had already chambered a round, but left the bolt undone just to prevent any accidents. Slowly, so as to keep from making any undue sounds, he slid the bolt forward and closed it with the faintest little clicking sound. As quiet as it was, it sounded like an explosion to him, and nervously he peered across the meadow to see if he'd been heard.

The deer continued grazing uninterrupted. He lifted the rifle to one shoulder, getting it adjusted and comfortable, peering through the sight till he found his target. He would normally be amazed that there were no mentions of the creature in the local rumor mill, as usually such a specimin would have been spotted and talked about to no end. Andy had, however, picked a location that was far seperated from any paved road, inaccessable to all but the most determined hunters, and even then largely ignored.

His hunch was about to pay off.

He let his breathing slow, his heart rate steady. There was no reason to get too excited just yet, and possibly spoil the shot. The buck was not moving much, and was standing broadside to him. He couldn't have asked for more. As his breathing slowed and his muscles steadied, the image in the scope grew clearer and more stable, the crosshairs no longer dancing up and down with his nerves. Andy imagined where the creature's heart was in his chest, and gently let the crosshairs drift to that spot, settling there, till he was as steady as a rock.

All that was left was to gently squeeze the trigger, and the prize was his to be had.

Suddenly, his concentration was broken by a low howl coming from right next to him, his ordinarily well behaved dog unexpectedly breaking the silence of the morning. Startled, Andy's hand jerked just a little as he yanked on the trigger, pulling the crosshairs up and over the buck's shoulders before he felt the bite of recoil on his shoulder, the air cracking with the deep booming sound of the rifle going off.

Cursing, Andy stood up straight and yanked the bolt on the rifle open, the spent brass casing ejecting from the chamber with a metallic ring as it was cast, forgotten, into the undergrowth. Even before the rushing echo of gunfire stopped reverberating among the trees and hills, his hand dove into a pocket on his jacket and grabbed hold of another bullet, wedging it into the chamber and jamming it shut.

As the scope was brought back up to his eyes he surveyed the meadow. Predictably the herd had scattered, deer sprinting across the clearing in an attempt to reach the cover of trees. The buck was still there, running. A moving shot was difficult but he could do it. The butt of the rifle was wedged against his shoulder and the scope trained on the moving animal. Andy bit his lip as he moved the crosshairs in front a bit to compensate for the motion, finger settling on the trigger.

Again his shot was spoiled when he felt a grasping pressure tug on his leg, causing him to lose his balance. The gun fired wildly into the air, another booming shot ringing through the trees and causing roosting birds to flush. Andy looked down, his confusion turning in to raw anger when he realized that Betty had a mouthful of his pants in her jaw and was tugging on it. "What the hell?"

The dog leaned back and growled at him as he reached for his ammunition. Never had Betty so much as looked at him the wrong way, but now she was baring her teeth and clearly threatening him. "You stupid bitch! Look what you've done!"

In a fit of anger, Andy chambered another round, and pointed the weapon directly at the old hound dog. At the last second she jumped back, just before he pulled the trigger and the ground in front of the canine exploding in a cloud of dirt and rocks and pine needles. With a frightened yelp, the dog tucked her tail between her legs and took off at a dead run through the underbrush. "Go on, stupid mutt!" Andy yelled angrily after her, spitting.

A crashing sound behind him caught his attention, and Andy wheeled around. The sight of that buck made his eyes go wide, but this time with fear. Against all expectations, it had run straight toward him and was now crashing through the trees, head tucked as it barreled right toward him, mere yards away. With a frightened yell, he reached for his ammunition, several of the rounds scattering on the ground beneath him as he snagged one and tried to jam it into the rifle, but at the last second he thought better and instead dove to the side.

One of the buck's antlers caught him by the thigh, and in one swift motion Andy was tossed into the air like a rag doll, the cloth of his thigh tearing and his skin being cut. He cried out in surprise and pain as the world suddenly spun around him in crazy angles, the ground then rushing back up till he landed with a thud.

Luckily for him, the maddened buck just kept running. For a long moment he couldn't move, lying on the ground, wheezing a little as he caught his breath. The crashing sound of the buck in the forest grew distant and then died off, and soon there was quiet save for the gentle breeze rustling the pines, and he slowly sat up with a groan. He touched the gash on his thigh with a grimace, but to his relief realized it was shallow. He could clean it up and bandage it with his supplies in camp.

"Son of a bitch ... what the hell got in to that hound?" He cursed into the air, reaching for his rifle and standing up unsteadily. "I hope I got her."

He knew he hadn't, but was so angry he wanted nothing more than for the dog to curl up and die somewhere in the forest. The prize buck was gone, and he didn't know if he'd ever get a chance like that again. Dejected, he headed back for camp.

"Say, Andy, where's your dog?"

Andy looked up from where he'd been sprawled out on the tailgate of his truck. He hadn't heared the approach of any vehicles, nor heard anyone get out of a car, but standing before him was Emelio the warden again. He frowned up at the man. "What?"

The younger man tipped his broad rimmed hat and motioned around. "Your dog, she doesn't seem to be around."

Andy sat up with a bit of a cringe. He'd managed to patch up the little gash on his thigh but it still hurt. "Stupid mutt run off."

"She ran off?" The warden lifted one eyebrow at the thought. "What happened to you? You look like you got in to a fight and lost."

He was aware that there were other signs of his encounter, as well as the gash on his thigh. His face had gotten a little bruised and scraped, and he still had pine needles in his hair. "I fell." He paused and licked his lips. "Trying to look for my dog. Tripped up on some dead wood and took a spill."

The explanation seemed reasonable, so the warden nodded. "I'm sorry to hear about your dog. You're not too badly hurt? I could send for help."

"I'm fine." Andy scowled in an irritated fashion, brushing some of the stray needles out of his hair. The weather seemed to have changed since he had dozed off, an gray bank of clouds having moved in, hanging low over the earth and obscuring the sun so that the day never really warmed up. "What're you here again, for, anyway?"

Emilio straightened up a little. "Figured I'd drop by and ask if you noticed anything strange, this morning."

"Didn't see nothing."

A moment of silence passed. "I was on the other side of the valley this morning, and heard a few rifle shots from this direction."

Andy tensed a little. "I heard it too," he said, trying to think on his feet. "Damned close too. It's what scared the dog off."

"I just asked if you noticed anything strange ..."

"It's hunting season, what's so strange about someone firing a rifle in the woods?" He spat the words out with frustration.

"I suppose you're right." The warden looked off in to the distance for a moment, before turning his dark brown eyes back on the older man with a somewhat pointed accusation behind them. "But I've been up and down this valley all morning, Andy, and your'e the only one that I've seen around."

Andy reached up and brushed his fingertips through his yellowing moustache, then spitting on the ground at his feet. "So what. That don't mean nothing."

"Look, Andy. I really don't want to cause any trouble for you." Emelio shifted his stance a little bit, hands on his hips and looking slightly more serious. "I really don't. I just have a job to do, here. I appreciate the love for hunting as much as the next guy, but ... some of the herds out here have been getting thinned out a bit more than they should. We're supposed to be managing the wildlife out here, not ... not killing them off. Hunters help maintain the herd's health, but poachers ..."

Again the older man scowled, spitting at the ground between his feet. "Now look here. I've lived out in these woods, hunted them probably as long as any man I know. You don't have to go lecturing me with any of that hippy tree-hugger garbage."

The look that the warden shot back was severe. "I'm going to have to search your things, Andy."

"Beg your pardon?"

The younger man took a step forward, folding his arms. "We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Let me search through your things and we'll deal with things as they come, or I can go ahead and take you in under suspicion of ..."

Andy shot up to a standing position in spite of the dull pain in his bones. "Why, I've never been talked down to in this manner!"

Emelio opened his mouth to shoot a retort when a radio in his truck squawked. He shot the older man an annoyed glare as he stomped back toward his vehicle. "You stay right there, I'll be back with you in a moment."

Andy was fuming. He was momentarily glad that he did not have a rifle in his hands at that moment, or he might find himself guilty of crimes worse than simply taking a few trophies here and there. In his mind, the warden was nothing but an inconsiderate interloper, someone come to trample on his values and his way of life. How dare anyone tell him how to live his life and what he could or could not do in these woods?

The warden returned after a few moments, looking irritated but slightly rushed. "Weather service is tracking a nasty winter storm headed this direction," he said after a moment, his eyes glancing around. "They're talking blizzard conditions, three to four feet of snow up at this elevation. You'd best be packing up your things and getting out of here before things get nasty."

"I think I'm tired of you telling me what to do," he snapped back.

Emelio furrowed his brows in irritation. "I'm not sure I give much of a damn what you do, but I'm just telling you for your own good. These roads are going to become impassable and you could be stuck out here for days. It's dangerous, deadly dangerous."

Andy frowned. "My dog is out there. I got to find her."

The warden threw his arms up in frustration. "Fine." He peeked down at his watch before huffing a grunt. "Look. We've probably got about two hours before it really starts coming down, so if you really want to look for your dog you'd better get to it. But she's just a dog. If you haven't found her within a couple hours, get yourself outta here. Better you escape alive than both of you freeze to death out in the woods."

"No one calls my Betty just a dog," Andy retorted in a low voice.

"Fine." Emelio stalked back over toward his truck, flinging the door open before hopping in and firing the engine back up. "It's your call. But when you decide to leave, do us all a favor and stop by the ranger's station and let someone know, so we don't risk our own asses searching for your frozen ass out here."

Andy watched as the warden slammed his door and took off down the road, kicking up a cloud of dust and pine needles in his wake. He made sure to flash the young man a middle finger as he drove off, but didn't really care if he saw it or not.

Nor did he really care what happened to the dog. The idea of her freezing to death made him smirk; it'd be proper punishment for what she'd done. But that buck was still out there, and he still had to give it one more try.

The hunt had been an utter waste of time. Not long after he'd set out into the woods, the sky darkened further as it began to snow. For a while, Andy wondered if perhaps the warden's warning was worth heeding, but the gentle falling snow was nothing like a blizzard. He had waited at the edge of that meadow for the better part of an hour and a half before it started to come down a little harder, and he reluctantly convinced himself that he would have to come out and try at some point again.

With a few inches of fresh snow on the ground, it was a little bit of work to pick his way back to the camp, but he knew the way. His only concern was crossing the one creek that was between him and his truck, and as he descended into the narrow ravine that it cut through the countryside, he had taken his time to be sure of his footing. It would not do to take a spill here.

Just as he neared the bottom of the ravine, he heard a sound behind him. Standing there, no more than ten feet away, was his dog, Betty. She seemed to be looking at him with a curious stare.

"Betty?" He blinked at her curiously. When she bared her teeth, he suddenly felt a little rush of fear in his chest. "Hey, old girl. I'm sorry about tryin' to shoot you earlier, but you bit me? Can you blame me?"

He held his hand out and smiled, but the dog responded by taking a step forward and growling. Andy retreated a step. "Hey! Hey there old girl ... enough of that! Let's just all forget that silliness and get on out of here ... warden says it's gonna be nasty. You don't want to be caught out here in all this snow!"

Rather than calm down, the dog seemed to grow more agitated. She took another step toward him, teeth bared, growling lowly. Andy stepped backward to keep his distance, trying to speak in a soothing voice, but abruptly the hound barked at him and leapt forward. Andy tried to sidestep the dog and move backward but his heel caught on a stone and he suddenly keeled over, crashing into the ground. The angle of the slop and the slick snow meant that he at first slid, before he rolled once, then twice, and suddenly splashed into an inch of icy cold water at the bottom of the ravine.

With a loud yell, he leapt upward and out of the water as quickly as he could. Without hesitation, his many years of experience in the woods kicked in and he tore off the outer layers of his clothing, working quickly to get rid of the soaked coat and pants till he was left with his thin, but at the very least, dry inner layers. The chill of the wind biting through the thinner clothing was immediate, but he knew he'd last longer this way than with wet clothing on.

His eyes lit upon his rifle, which had fallen off his back and wound up at the bank of the little stream without falling in to it. Suddenly remembering the angry dog, he scooped up the rifle and brought it to bear, turning to face the canine.

She was gone.

Andy blinked in confusion, but there was no sign of the dog through the falling snow. He scanned up and down the shallow ravine for some hint of her, but she seemed to have left him to his devices when he had fallen into the icy waters. Shuddering, he hauled himself up and out of the ravine and back in the direction of the truck.

He knew he was in danger of hypothermia setting in, as the biting cold breeze easily snuck into his clothing and chilled his skin. The icy cold water dousing his clothes would have meant sure death; at least now, he was hopeful that he'd have enough time to make it back to his encampment before it got too bad. He picked up the pace though, as he knew that he could spare no time.

Then he saw it. Through a brief opening in the trees, hardly fifty yards through a little clearing in the trees, was the monsterous buck. He had to blink twice to be sure it was there, but there was little doubt in his mind. He knew that hypothermia caused hallucinations, but it hadn't set in yet. This was real.

He knew he had to hurry back to camp, but convinced himself he had the time.

Slowly he raised the rifle back to his shoulder, pressing the butt firmly into his flesh. He tried not to shiver too much, breathing in slow, deep breaths to calm his chilly nerves, catching sight of the buck through the scope. It was a less than optimal shot, the creature mostly facing him and his aim wobbly, but it would be good enough. All he needed was a little bit of luck. It seemed to be looking right at him through that scope, but if it indeed saw him it was not running away. He still had his chance. Slowly the crosshairs seemed to settle on the buck's chest. It was good enough. Gently he squeezed the trigger.

Nothing happened.

With a gasp, he realized that he had forgotten to load a round into the chamber. Spitting a curse out into the wind, he lowered the rifle and looked up. The buck was still there, still looking in his direction, still unmoving. Shaking, he reached for his ammo pouch, and cursed loudly when he realized it wasn't there. With fading hope, he reached for his pants pocket and fished in them.

His fingers found a single round. He would have only one chance. Carefully he lifted the round from his pocket and set it into the chamber, the metal loudly clinking against the barrel as he did. The bolt was difficult to maneuver, twisting and sliding so slowly. Perhaps it had been the cold beginning to seize up the metal, or perhaps it had simply sapped the strength from his arms. It took a great amount of effort to secure the bolt and lift the rifle back to his shoulder. As he peered through the scope, he saw that the buck had begun moving. It was walking, very slowly, right toward him.

"Jesus Christ." He whispered softly as he sought to steady the weapon, feeling his heart beat in his chest, shaking at the cold. It took all his strength and concentration to steady the rifle in his grip, the crosshairs settling on the beast's chest even as it moved. All that was left was for him to squeeze the trigger, and he'd be done. His fingers fumbled, trying to get a grip on the trigger, but they were not cooperating. As he tried, the rifle began to shake more. It was becomming impossible.

Then, unintentionally, he dropped it. The weapon landed in the snow softly and did not go off. Cursing again, he knelt down to scoop it out of the snow but was having a hard time getting a grip on it. His fingers did not want to budge, stiff and painful. The cold was beginning to take its toll.

He looked up again and saw the big buck, still moving closer. His breath caught in his chest as he shivered. He tried rubbing his hands on his pants to warm them up. In a fit of desperation, he tore his shirt off, bearing the brunt of the cold on his bare skin as he wrapped the cloth around his hands, squeezing and rubbing to try and get some warmth and life back into them.

"Come on, come on," he whispered lightly. Somehow his motion had not scared the buck away. He'd still have a shot if he could only warm up his fingers. He could hear it now, moving, closing in. His heart began to thump more loudly in his chest as he felt a little dizzy.

The attempt to thaw his fingers wasn't working. The cloth fell from his hands into a heap on the snow. His fingers had curled in against themselves and refused to budge, leaving his hands balled into useless fists. Kneeling there in the snow before his rifle, he cried out in frustration and started pounding those hardened fists against the rifle, to no avail.

Then he could see the creature there, just in front of him. It came to a stop, with little more than it's hooves in view, mere feet from where the rifle lay in the snow. Andy gasped helplessly, reaching for the rifle again in desperation, clawing at it helplessly. It was no good. Hooves were simply not made for grasping objects.

He thought he might be ill. His gut felt like it was wrenching in on itself, and he nearly threw up on the ground before him. He lifted his head up and got a good close look at the buck, now looming there in front of him, unafraid. It almost seemed to stare at him from beneath that magestic rack that he coveted. He'd never seen a buck like this. He wanted it above all else. Yet he was now useless, defenseless, his weapon becoming buried under the snowfall.

The animal moved. With a soft cry, Andy tried to throw his arms up in front of his face, to shield him from the assualt, but they refused to cooperate. His arms refused to raise up off the ground, his joints refusing to bend that way. He could do nothing but cower. To his amazement, though, the buck didn't attack. It only began to walk around the side of him.

Thick flakes of snow had buried his rifle from view. Andy wanted nothing more to escape, but he couldn't. His front hooves dug at the snow, pawing madly, but his legs simply refused to move. Perhaps it was the cold, perhaps he was in worse a shape than he knew, but his mind reeled at the fear of not being able to get away. The big buck snorted behind him, and again he tensed up in fear, his gut twisting inside of him. He wanted to dart into the woods but he couldn't. His body refused it.

Andy wanted that buck, wanted it more than anything. That thought reverberated through Andy's head like a bell, almost overriding, in spite of the sensation of helplessness. The rifle was buried and gone, no way to retrieve it, no way to use it, and Andy knew it was a lost cause. Still, the desire to have that buck was overwhelming.

Finally the cold seemed to relent, just enough, Andy's muscles suddenly becoming useful again. In the space of a heartbeat those muscles all tensed up and moved, urged on by the powerful desire to run, to esacape. Trees rushed by at frightening speeds, big fat snowflakes obscuring vision, rocks hiding just beneat the cover of the snow threatening to bring the escape attempt to a sudden stop, but Andy didn't care. The fear, the need to get away, surpassed all else.

There was also no sense of direction to the flight. So much snow had fallen that there was no longer any way to know which direction the camp was, and which led deeper into the forest, but for the moment, that wasn't what mattered. Getting away from that buck was the only thing that did, but even that seemed difficult. Not far behind, darting through the trees, that big buck followed along, giving chase. Instead of having been frightened off by the sudden movement, the creature intended to follow, to hunt Andy down, and that realization only drove up the impending sense of fear.

How long the chase went on, Andy didn't know. Just as the sense of direction had been lost, so too had the sensation of the passage of time dulled. No longer did she find herself counting things in minutes or seconds, but heartbeats and footfalls. Andy tried, tried so hard to escape, but her little legs could not do it, and soon the energy gave out. Just as she came to a stop, the big buck came crashing out of the woods, stopping to stand in front of her.

There was no sense in trying him, any longer. The buck was the biggest she had ever laid eyes on, and there was no question that he could best any other in a fight. He had been able to chase her down with little difficulty. He was the best stock there was to be had, there were no doubts about that. Andy desired the buck above all else. With her head dipped forward, Andy presented herself.

The big buck wasted no time in drawing up behind her and hauling himself onto her haunches. She bore his weight well, just as she would bear his fawns come spring. As the big buck mounted her with a snort, she could hear the thought starting to buzz in her head.

"Too long have I let you thin my herd, slaughter my brethren, my children. No longer. Now you will do your part to rebuild my herd." Of course she would. It was what a doe did best, of course, and there was no way for a doe to refuse a stag like him.